


Like a Clockmaker Fixes Time

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 3, Season 3 finale spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma comes to Fitz with a proposal four days after the final battle with Hive, after one of their close friends gave the ultimate sacrifice that leaves the team irrevocably damaged. But while he is surprised by her words, when she looks up at him with bruised, sad eyes, Fitz finds he cannot deny her this request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Clockmaker Fixes Time

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I started this after 3x20 and finished it after 3x22. Finale spoilers definitely apply.  
> 2\. I made a playlist! Because I need music when I write. [Like a Clockmaker Fixes Time Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLUCDGY7zrka7swEws6DzBKNI7PVXKaGzx)  
> 3\. Shout out to dilkirani for beta and the well-crafted emails detailing the fine points of Fitzsimmons that led me to declare "I will go down with this 'ship!"

  
_Dismiss the invisible by giving it shape_  
_Like a clockmaker fixes time_  
_By keeping the gears in line_  
_Don’t be, don’t be afraid_  
_God knows that mistakes will be made_  
_But I promise you I’ll keep you safe_  
(“I’ll Keep You Safe”; Sleeping At Last)

Jemma comes to Fitz with a proposal four days after the final battle with Hive, after one of their close friends gave the ultimate sacrifice that leaves the team irrevocably damaged. But while he is surprised by her words, when she looks up at him with bruised, sad eyes, Fitz finds he cannot deny her this request.

Ever prepared, she presses a folder in his hand. If most of their tech hadn't been fried, there is little doubt in his mind that she would have pulled together some sort of slide show presentation. He says yes without cracking open the folder, his lips ghosting over the tender slope of her cheek, along the silvery scar above her eyebrow. He can feel her smile against his chest as she tucks herself further into his arms. Just as he followed her into the field those few years ago, he will follow her home.

It takes minimal effort for Coulson to accept their indefinite leaves of absence. He, too, is broken by the loss and by what it means. He recognizes the sacrifices his scientists have made through the years and only presses his lips into a grim, knowing line before he offers a sizable bonus as a parting gift.

And that is all it takes.

By the end of the week, they are in England, visiting her parents. Mack contacts them with news of Daisy’s disappearance, that she has gone to ground and doesn’t want to be found. Mack promises he’ll keep them in the loop, but that there’s nothing they can do. That night, Jemma and Fitz sit side-by-side, remembering the early days on the BUS, when Daisy was Skye, Ward was still a surrogate big brother, and they were filled with wide-eyed wonder. 

Two weeks later, they are tucked away in a comfortable cottage in the lush countryside of Scotland. It’s better than the cottage from her childhood memories. With its thatched roof and pink roses climbing over the mustard colored front door, it's their home.

Fitz soon begins drawing up plans for a lab. When he shows them to Jemma, she gives him a faint smile before setting the sketch aside and leading him to their bed. The next afternoon, Fitz feels utterly content as they sit together on the sofa; her socked feet are pressed against his thigh and a gardening magazine is spread out across her lap. A well-worn engineering journal is spread across his own lap. Without looking up, he suggests pricing various mass spectrometers but she points to a photo of an intricate wild garden she’d like to add along the embankment behind the house, down near the willow trees. He slips his fingers under the cuff of her pant leg and nods in agreement before turning back to his journal. The mass spectrometer is forgotten.

A week later, she shrugs off his list of potential contractors specializing in laboratory design before promptly throwing her leg across his body. In that moment, as she sweetly presses her mouth along the column of his throat, he knows something is up.

xXx

“Fitz!” Jemma calls from the backyard, various plants and gardening tools spread out around her feet. “What do you think about a pond right here?”

“I think this is Scotland and we don’t need a  _ pond_, of all things. The ground is wet enough.” His left foot sinking into the mud left from yesterday’s rain only proves his point.

“But it will be quite picturesque.”

“More like insect-infested, Jemma.” He visibly shudders. “A certifiable swamp.”

She only rolls her eyes and gives him a smile. “Come now, Fitzy. Help me dig.”

He takes a deep breath. “Can’t. Got a call in five minutes.” When she looks up, he continues. “With one of those contractors I mentioned the other day. Figured we’d start at the top of the list and work our way down.”

He watches her entire body tense and wonders how he hadn’t really noticed her reactions the other few times he’d talked about building their lab. But then he remembers her kisses, or her nails dragging down his bare chest. She’s been distracting him, avoiding something.

And now, standing in their backyard, her chestnut hair slipping from her topknot, a smudge of dirt darting across her cheek, she looks terrified.

But a phone rings from inside the house and he sees her exhale.

“Best go answer that,” she says, tipping a pot of heather over in her hand before tossing aside the plastic container. She doesn’t look up as he slips back into the house, hands in his pockets and a frown on his face.

Later that evening, Fitz makes an easy dinner of spaghetti bolognese and garlic toast while she showers. He gives her a glass of red wine and a quick kiss the minute she steps into the kitchen. Her hair is still damp and curling wildly at her shoulders; she looks like the young girl he met all those years ago.

“Spag bol?” She grins and raises an eyebrow. Instantly, he recalls a time when he nervously offered to take her to a fancy restaurant. He’d never told her, but he’d wanted to go for a nice Italian dinner—he’d had the whole evening planned out. But their dinner date after her rescue from Maveth had been a disaster, and once they were together, they hadn’t had time for another trip away from the base while trying to stop Hive’s attack. They were always moving from one disaster to another, always worrying about their safety or the safety of their friends.

“‘Course. Seemed a good choice.” He shrugs one shoulder before she raises up on her toes to press her lips to his once more.

“Always.” She grins before moving to the cupboard where the plates are stored.

xXx

After dinner, they take their wine glasses to the wooden swing in the back garden. She is tucked up against him and a soft breeze is billowing through the willow trees. Even in the twilight, the wildflower garden is soothing. There isn’t another house for ages, no crazy sound pollution; after years on a SHIELD base, the change is both startling and refreshing. Once again, a sense of contentment staggers him momentarily. He never imagined he would be living in a small cottage in Perthshire with Jemma in his arms and in his bed—and without the threat of impending world destruction. But for all the happiness he has felt during the last two months, he is starting to realize that something is wrong. 

Between the two of them, Jemma was always the pragmatic one. Driven by cause-and-effect, if she couldn’t quantify it, she wasn’t interested. But in the recent weeks, she’d shied away from science. The only experiment he could remember her doing since arriving in Scotland involved a recipe for double fudge brownies. He couldn’t even recall the last time he saw her with a science journal in her hand. So willing to follow her anywhere, he hadn’t noticed the sharp change brought on in the aftermath of Hive. The pieces only slid into place when she avoided discussing the lab installation. He might be a smart man, but Jemma Simmons has always been a bit of a blind spot.

Fitz finishes off his wine and sets the glass in the grass before wrapping both arms around Jemma. His fingers play at the nape of her neck and he feels her shiver against him, the combination of wine and his touch no doubt relaxing her. He takes a breath and wills himself to remain steady.

“Between the two of us, we have several unfinished conversations,” he begins, pausing to lick his suddenly dry lips. “And while we can usually determine what the other is thinking—what did Daisy call that? _Psychically linked_?” He feels her tense at the mention of Daisy and makes a mental note. “Despite all of that, I think there are a few examples in our shared past where we should’ve talked more.” 

“I don’t want to talk,” she mumbles against his chest, her fingers gently curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. 

“Ok, well then how about if you just listen?” When she doesn’t object, Fitz draws her closer. “That day on the zephyr, I think it’s an understatement to say I was terrified. But, God, Jemma, was I _ever_. One minute we were talking about Seychelles and the next the base was under attack—again.”

“Our friends were still ripped apart, despite all our best efforts. And we never did get to take that holiday.” Her voice is low, but Fitz is relieved she is talking despite her protests. 

After Lincoln’s death—and especially after Daisy’s disappearance—a beach vacation seemed inappropriate. They’d tabled it for a time when emotions weren’t so close to the surface, when their makeshift family wasn’t quite so fractured. 

He presses his lips to her forehead before continuing. 

“But Hive was still stopped. And you and I are safe. We're together.”

“I came so close to losing you, again, Fitz.” She meets his eye, tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t blame Daisy for disappearing. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in her place.”

“Is—is that why you don’t want to install a lab? Because of the attack on the zephyr? I haven’t seen you pick up an academic journal or plot out an experiment in weeks, Jem.” He tries to approach the topic gingerly, but they have spent  _years_ talking around what they mean and he is trying to do better. 

They can discuss quantum theory, but their own emotions are often trickier subjects. While they’ve made progress in recents months, they are experts at avoiding uncomfortable topics. 

She pulls herself upright, putting a bit of space between them, and Fitz’s heart stutters with a flash of panic that he pushed too fast. But her hand is still in his and he runs his thumb over her skin in soothing shapes of infinities.

“I just keeping thinking about Lincoln, about how he did what he did to protect Daisy. And I know you’d do the same if the tables were turned.” She tightens her hold on him and looks at him with a fierceness in her eyes. “In fact,  _ you have _ done, so many times. And it feels like only a matter of time before we run out of luck, you and I.”

“So you spirited us away to the countryside, to what, better our odds? That isn’t very logical, Dr. Simmons.” His tone is gentle but there’s an edge of concern. Where he is emotional, she is sensible. Avoiding danger was more of his thing and he worries the events of the last few years have had an even deeper impact than he originally surmised. 

“I’m just so  _ tired _ of fighting battles for the greater good, of being caught in the line of fire. I want to be selfish. I want us to be safe and happy, and away from all of that. And I feel guilty for it. I feel guilty because Daisy is out there, heartbroken and alone, and we aren’t helping in the search. I feel guilty because Earth could be under  _ another _ attack and we're sitting here in our garden, blissfully unaware.”

“Jemma—” He reaches up and brushes a tear from her cheek, his heart nearly breaking.

“I just want us to  _ be_, Fitz. No portals, no alien infestations, and—I know this will come as quite a shock—no  _ science_.” She pauses before adding, “At least not right now.” 

“C’mon, Jem. You  _ love _ science.” He gives her a soft nudge, but she only sits taller.

“Yes, but I love you more.” While they’ve said those three little words innumerable times, they still send a thrill through him. 

“More than science?” 

“I know, surprised me, too,” she teases as he pulls her down to his chest.

“We can’t hide away here forever, you know?”

“Says who?”

“Most likely, that secret government agency we currently don’t work for.” 

She tenses against him, and he runs his palms over her back reassuringly. 

“I don’t know if I can go back there.” 

“Let’s not worry about that for the time being, then.” He kisses the top of her head and she hums in agreement. “What do you say we instead focus on creating new experiments—things we never had a chance to explore because of homework. Or invading alien threats.”

“What kind of  _ experiments_, Dr. Fitz?” It is a question she has asked him several times, but never with such a seductive lilt and he feels his body react. 

“Of the quantified kind, my dear.” 

“Oh, anything can be quantified.” She presses her lips to the smooth skin of his throat, the tip of her tongue darting out to dance along the flicker of his pulse point. He falters only for a moment—his reaction time when presented with a flirtatious Jemma Simmons is getting better—before leaning down and catching her mouth in a sweet, but promising kiss. 

xXx

“Your contractor put a crack in the ceiling while installing the new stainless steel countertops in the lab.  _ A crack in the ceiling_.” Jemma stands over Fitz as he digs a pond-size hole near the wildflowers. Her hands are on her hips and the setting sun is at her back. She looks simultaneously peevish and radiant. 

“Why is he  _ my  _ contractor when he damages property, but  _ your _ contractor when he casually drops facts from your published dissertation in conversation?” Fitz wipes the sweat from his brow. 

“Oh, I should think the answer to that is fairly obvious.” She pulls a jug of ice water from the canvas bag slung over her shoulder and he takes it greedily. 

“I’m starting to think I should keep a better eye on  _ my  _ contractor.” He pauses between gulps of water to give her a playful wink before turning back to the pile of dirt. “Are you absolutely positive we need a pond, Jemma?” 

“It’ll be relaxing!” 

“It’ll be a bog in less than two weeks.” 

“Well, either way, think of the life forms that’ll surely present!” There is a gleam in her eye Fitz hasn’t seen in months, but he still shudders at the thought of the microscopic creepy crawlers. No doubt, Jemma will drag infested pond water into their lab—into their  _ house_.

“Oh, don’t look so peeky, honestly.” Jemma rolls her eyes before kissing his dirt-dusted cheek. Turning back to the cottage, she calls out over her shoulder, “But do remember, the sooner you finish the pond, the sooner we can further explore our  _ other  _ experiments. That is, if you’re not too tired tonight.” 

Fitz blinks hard as the realization of her words sets in and watches as she disappears through the door. A wave of contentment settles over him.

Tipping his head back, he looks up to the evening sky and catches the faint tail of a falling meteor. With his heart full of love for Jemma, and with hope for his rag-tag family wherever they may be, he closes his eyes and makes a wish.

  
— FIN —


End file.
